


The right to remain silent

by inichuinmylife



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 08:52:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3890140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inichuinmylife/pseuds/inichuinmylife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had the right to remain silent. What it meant to take it, or to not take it, however, was an entirely different story. And yet, Kiku had to choose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The right to remain silent

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Originally, I wanted to do a series like this, impossible thief Kiku and increasingly frustrated policeman Yao. A bit like Kamikaze Kaitou Jeanne, but without all the demons. Who knows. I may do it one day. Also, originally this was intended to be comedy… That didn’t happen.

“Evening, Officer.”

“Evening,” Yao returned the greeting even though the otherwise respectful and well-intentioned words were, in this case, anything but. He sighed and removed his uniform’s jacket, folding it over the back of the chair without looking, now completely used to finding someone in his house uninvited. While infrequent, it was not an unprecedented occurrence, and the fact that it happened to be the same person all the while helped a lot.

He finally turned to face the intruder, a slim and plainly dressed Japanese man who was sat on his bed, looking quite at home there and completely unperturbed by the fact that he had broken in to somebody’s house. “Go on then,” he sighed, looking the man up and down. “How did you get in this time? I’m guessing you disabled the alarm again. You _know_ it takes me ages to get it back up and running.”

The other man said nothing, his dark eyes unreadable as they watched his every move. “Not today,” he replied, his features softening into a slight enigmatic smile.

Confused, Yao furrowed his eyebrows. The other man always disabled the alarm – apparently it was fun to watch him struggle to put it back on. Seeing his confusion, the intruder nodded slightly towards the second-storey bedroom window. “You left your window open,” he said with a smile that was both affectionate and fondly teasing. “Hardly a good thing when you’re a police officer, now, is it?”

Yao frowned, trying to come across as stern and probably failing miserably. “It wouldn’t matter if I didn’t have to put up with a thief like you.”

“It’s not like I’m dangerous,” the man on his bed said, a little too innocent for Yao’s liking. It was true that hurting people and the use of force had never been in his MO – so far – but Yao did not like to think that he was entirely incapable of doing so. Appearances, he had learnt, could be deceiving. Otherwise, the man sitting before him would be the most innocuous person on the planet. “I’m just… dextrous, that’s all,” he went on to explain. “And look, I even shut the window for you.”

“How kind of you,” he said in response, taking his hat off and resting it on the chair as well. “You’re practically a saint.”

“Thank you, Officer.” The words had a certain sarcastic bite to them, as had his. He laughed, and, smiling gently, the very attractive man who just so happened to double up as one of the country’s most notorious – and eccentric – thieves got up from the bed to help him loosen his tie. His fingers were delicate, and long, yet there was a certain strength in them, and Yao knew all too well just how quickly they could move.

They stood there then, centimetres apart, close enough to feel the warmth of each other’s breath, quiet enough to hear reluctance between them. Yao hesitated, and quickly pressed a soft kiss to his cheek in an attempt to make contact, to find out where he could stand. At first, there was no reaction, and Yao wondered if he overstepped the boundary too soon. Then the other man softened, and clumsily, as though he were not used to giving affection, returned it. “It’s been a long time.”

“It has.” He took a deep and wavering breath as he drew the other man close, as though trying to inhale the other man’s scent. “Too long.”

* * *

They retired early, desperate and aching to feel each other’s touch after what had felt like a lifetime, wanting nothing more than to sit beside each other on Yao’s bed and to tell each other the tiny and meaningless details of their distinct and separate lives.

And then, after moments of silence punctuated only by the touching of their little fingers, inexplicably and without a word, the other man drew close to rest against his side. He was warm where the night was cold, but he looked preoccupied, and sad. As though to comfort him, in perhaps the only way he knew how, Yao took his hand.

One thing, it seemed, led to another. Now, with the other man – Yao realised that despite _years_ of trying (and failing) to track him down, he _still_ did not know his name – beneath him, his skin hot to the touch despite his shivering where he was exposed, Yao began to question what exactly the nature of their relationship was. Were they enemies? Certainly. Lovers? Almost definitely. Where they stood on the strange and warped spectrum, however, neither of them knew, and Yao doubted they would ever find out.

“Why is it,” he sat up and placed a hand on the other man’s exposed side, earning a small wriggle of protest and a comment that his hands were, quite emphatically, _cold_ , “that this is the only time you let me put you in handcuffs? Never heard of such a thing as coming quietly?”

“You sure haven’t,” the thief responded, sighing a little, and while his voice was calm and level, he was shivering under the contact, and Yao knew he was out of his comfort zone. He wriggled slightly, and, relenting, Yao let him go. “And well, if you’re offering to make love to me when I’m on a job… I’d have to decline. Public sex isn’t really my thing. And to be honest, this is the only time that handcuffs are ever that exciting.”

Yao raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

The thief – Yao wished once more he knew the other man’s name, for a glimmer of the familiarity that he had no right to assume – murmured an agreement that was a little too matter-of-fact, then nodded towards the headboard. He smiled coyly, dark eyes wide with fake innocence: “I suppose there’s no chance of you letting me go, then.”

Yao leant in close and drew away, as though to tease the other man when he had just gone to reciprocate the intimacy. Their lips were centimetres apart, close enough to feel the other’s hot breath, and Yao could tell that despite the pretences, the stifling façades that they always wore to lessen the blow of their inevitable parting, both of them were longing for one more kiss. “Not a chance. I want to take you in for questioning. After this, of course.”

It was hardly an intimidating threat, he knew, and the thief showed no signs of being flustered, looking up at him with eyes that could see right through him. He was unconcerned, and not at all frightened, seemingly aware that – no matter how much he wanted him to believe otherwise – Yao would not take him to the police station. “You won’t do that.”

“Won’t I?” Yao smiled, trying his luck. “What makes you so sure?”

“Because,” the thief worked magic with his fingers and the handcuffs sprang open. “You want to catch me.”

* * *

The morning came far too quickly for Kiku’s liking. Staying with Yao always made him hope that somehow, time would simply stop, letting them be for a few precious moments more before they had to part ways. He knew it was stupid, but even so, that did not stop him having a very hard time waking up and extracting himself from Yao’s embrace.

Today, as always, was no different. He had fought to free himself from Yao’s arms (it was ironic, he supposed, that handcuffs were easier to escape than his – lover’s? Was he allowed to call Yao that? – hold), and prepared to leave, as he did normally. It wasn’t that their relationship was limited solely to their sexual activities, or that it didn’t run deeper than that. Far from it. It was just that sometimes, he couldn’t bear to stay. It reminded him of everything he kept having to lose.

Yao, it seemed, was the opposite. “Hold up,” he murmured sleepily, stirring and beginning to rise from amongst the blankets. “Why don’t you stay for breakfast?”

Kiku hesitated in the doorway. It would have been all too easy to decline, to say he had to work, to leave and to only come back when he had the strength of heart to see Yao once again. But Yao was watching him, hoping, and Kiku found that he could not turn Yao down. “…Alright.”

So it was that he ended up sitting in Yao’s kitchen, waiting awkwardly while Yao made food. They said nothing, silently in awe of each other’s presence, and instead settled for exchanging meek and uncertain glances. Time passed slowly, second by gentle second, and despite his earlier misgivings, Kiku found that he did not regret choosing to stay.

“Here,” Yao placed a plate of _baozi_ in front of him, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Eat. You’re thin enough as it is.”

“This is…” Kiku paused, looking down at the small mountain of food before him. “…Very kind of you.” Because really, it was – Yao wasn’t required to go to such lengths for him, and yet he had, even if it was somewhat excessive. “Thank you.”

He barely registered Yao’s response (something along the lines of making sure to look after himself and eat well), caught up in his thoughts, wondering why he could not remain with Yao here for as long as they both desired. He shook his head. He was getting too complacent. Yao was his enemy, or at least, Kiku thought he was; labelling Yao as such felt wrong, and even cruel, and the thought of having to leave him weighed all too heavily in his mind.

“Are you okay?” Yao asked, once again intruding on his thoughts and reaching out as though to touch his forehead. Unwittingly, Kiku flinched, and, hurt, Yao pulled away. But he could not help it. He could not take it any further. One more touch would break him. One more kiss would kill him. And yet, nothing could be more wonderful.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Yao repeated himself but did not try to touch him. “There’s nothing wrong?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I’m just…”

“Just what?”

“Thinking, I suppose.” He took a _baozi_ as though to stop the conversation going any further. Yao caught his eye and waited. A guilty blush spread across his cheeks. “It’s fine.”

Yao watched him with fire in his eyes. “Alright.” Kiku relaxed, and they finished eating, with small attempts at quiet conversation. The knowledge that they would soon finish eating made him nervous, somehow, and desperate with the certain understanding that it now hurt to hear Yao’s voice. They cleared the dishes into the kitchen, and Kiku breathed.

“Can I ask you some questions?” Yao began, hesitantly, facing the wall so they did not have to meet each other’s eyes. “I don’t think you’ll answer, but… I just want to ask, that’s all.”

With great uncertainty, Kiku paused. As Yao said, he did not have to answer. It was likely that he would not. But, a voice somewhere inside his head said, nothing would change if he didn’t. They would be stuck here, at a stalemate, forever. Sometimes things had to be sacrificed before they could be changed. “…Alright.”

Yao breathed out, and then began to speak, submerging his hands into the sink as he did so. “How is it that you do… what you do? I mean… we’ve had guards stationed around the very thing you stole. And yet, you still got past them all. How is it that you do that?”

He studied Yao’s face, uncertain as to what he was thinking. His lover remained decidedly focused on the soap bubbles around his wrists, showing nothing but concentration on his face. “…Training,” Kiku said finally, trying not to laugh as Yao almost dropped the plate in surprise. Evidently, he had not expected a response. “It’s just… something I’ve practiced, that’s all. That, and a very good knowledge of people. Which is odd, because I’m not really very good with them.”

Their eyes met briefly, and Kiku found himself nervous. Perhaps it was because he had never done this before, never opened himself up to another human being. Or perhaps it was because it was Yao, who meant so much and could so easily turn him down. But there was something like happiness on Yao’s face, and Kiku suspected that this sharing of information was, to Yao, much more than that.

“Alright. Makes sense, I guess,” Yao stared back into the sink again, as though for inspiration. “And… how about, _why_? What makes you break into somewhere, steal something, and then break in three days later just to put it back? Is it just for fun? What do you get out of it?”

“It’s just something for… not fun, exactly,” he began, watching Yao again. This question was, to some extent, easier. Whether or not Yao would believe him was another matter. “It’s like… it’s something I _have_ to do. You see, I…” He met Yao’s eyes briefly, and stopped.

“Go on.”

“I was raised by a family that... specialised in this.” Yao did not laugh in the way that Kiku had feared he might. Of course he placed more faith in Yao, but still… He was uncertain, that was all. On his darkest days, he would remember that, in the same way he deceived them, people could quite as easily be deceiving him. On seeing that Yao was waiting, and not laughing, he continued. “Breaking and entering. Heists. Robberies. They trained me to follow in their footsteps, I suppose, carry on the family ways. I was dealing with things like your alarm when I was five. But then, well, I… I saw how much it affected people, and… I decided I didn’t want to do it anymore. Needless to say, they weren’t happy. But when I had left home, I started to miss it. In a weird way. You know how you have to do a skill routinely, so that it doesn’t die?”

Yao thought, then nodded.

“It’s like that. Without it, I was, well, _bored._ It was something to keep me occupied. That’s all.”

He waited, trying to look at Yao casually out of the corner of his eye. “You know,” he began, rinsing his soapy hands under the cold tap. “Before today, I thought you were mad. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still weird. But… you do make some sense.”

Sadly, Kiku smiled. “Thank you. I think.”

“Welcome. Well,” Yao watched him from the other side of the kitchen. “I guess you’ll be off, then?”

“I’d best be.”

“Alright then. I’ll… see you around, I guess.”

“Yeah.”

He walked to the door and put on his shoes, not daring to look back, a strange sense of sorrow heavy in his chest, and, finally, made to leave.

“Wait,” Yao’s voice made him stop, his hand on the latch. “One more question.” Still, he did not turn around. “What’s your name?”

He shut his eyes, confused and sad. _Of all the questions he had to ask…_ Strange and as insignificant as it sounded, this was perhaps one of the biggest decisions of his life, and it was also impossible. To say nothing meant that things would remain as they were, he and Yao meeting only for conflicts and resolutions, and for nothing in between. To tell him meant ending everything, ending his thievery, ending the only thing that linked him to his family, ending something that – despite its inherent immorality – was actually something he enjoyed. But it also meant the possibility of starting anew, to love and to be loved, with Yao.

He took a deep breath. The first time they had met, on a crime scene on a cold and rainy night, where Kiku had chained him to a radiator with his own handcuffs, Yao had sworn he would stop him.

Yao had never caught him – he had never even come close – but in the end, he had been right, just in an entirely different way.

“…Kiku,” he said, finally. “Honda Kiku.”

“Kiku.” His name sounded like music.

Fearfully, and shamefully, Kiku turned around. Yao’s eyes were full of wonder and an innocent flame.

His name felt safe in Yao’s mouth.

“Kiku.”


End file.
